


Jamie Benn's War on Christmas

by othersideofthis (hikaru)



Category: Dallas Stars RPF, Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, M/M, Ugly Holiday Sweaters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 11:20:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2810333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hikaru/pseuds/othersideofthis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tyler’s eyebrows inch up. “Are you allergic to fun?” He toys with the bow on the wreath on his door, making the ends dance in the air as he talks. “It’s just a bunch of harmless decorations.” </p><p>“It’s so…” Jamie makes a face, a terrible grimace. “Festive.” He says it like it’s a dirty word. </p><p>“Dude, did you get beat up with a bunch of garland when you were a kid?” Tyler looks honestly, legitimately concerned. “I am worried about your childhood.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jamie Benn's War on Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cbomb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cbomb/gifts).



> Thanks to [engine](http://archiveofourown.org/users/engine) for reading along and letting me shout at fic as I flailed at the deadline.
> 
> Thanks to Tyler Seguin and Jamie Benn (with bonus Jason Demers) for wearing ridiculous ugly holiday sweaters in the real world.

There are lots of things that Jamie likes about his apartment building. It’s centrally located, the rent is reasonable, his neighbors are generally pretty chill people, and the landlord responds pretty promptly every time Jamie accidentally breaks something.

Of course, the landlord’s also… a bit of a character.

“Oh come _on,_ It’s November first,” Jamie complains when he goes out into the hall and finds Christmas lights strung up everywhere. 

Kari’s halfway up a ladder, trying to tape garland to the ceiling. “‘tis the season, Mr. Benn,” he says, waving down from his precarious perch.

“I told you, you can call me Jamie,” he points out, not for the first time. “And should you really be doing this?” Kari’s got one foot on the ladder, the other resting on top of light fixture on the wall. “That looks really unsafe.” Jamie takes a few steps forward, just in case.

“It’s fine.” The ladder wobbles as Kari stretches to affix some garland directly over Jamie’s door.

“You say that now,” Jamie says, wrapping one hand around the ladder to steady it. “But someday, you’re going to fall off and hit your head, and then what?”

Kari presses a staple gun to the wall and staples the garland up. “It’s fine,” Kari repeats. He leans back and eyes his handiwork, a large grin on his face.

“Also, it’s November.”

“Don’t be a scrooge. Can you hand me that bow?” Kari shakes his foot towards a giant shopping bag underneath the ladder.

Jamie sighs and fishes out a bright red bow; Kari promptly affixes it to the garland above Jamie’s door. “Beautiful,” Kari announces before clambering back down the ladder.

“Ugh,” Jamie frowns at the cheerful display over his door.  “ _November_ , Kari.”

Kari folds the ladder up. “Your rent is really, really cheap, Jamie.”

Kari’s got him on that one.

 

*

 

Jamie’s on the phone with his brother when he stops in the vestibule to get his mail.

Or, at least, he’d be getting his mail if there weren’t a giant Christmas tree blocking his way.  “Jordie, I’ve gotta go,” he grumbles. “Kari put a tree in the way of the mailboxes, I need both hands.”

Jamie shoves his phone in his pocket and starts trying to shove the tree out of the way. “Damnit, Kari,” he mutters. He gets his foot up against the tree stand and pushes, inching the huge tree to the side.

“Kari really likes Christmas,” says a disembodied voice from the other side of the tree, and Jamie groans.

If there’s anything he wants to deal with less than Kari’s over-exuberant holiday cheer, it’s his neighbor Tyler, the one who constantly wakes him up by getting his headboard slammed against the wall.  Tyler and Jamie have been friendly enough since Tyler moved in, and Jamie won’t lie, having a hot neighbor has maybe been the highlight of living in this building. He even went to the annual summer cook-out for the first time this year, just because he knew Tyler would be there. But that doesn’t mean that he knows what to do about it, and besides, Jamie can’t even look him in the eyes without wondering what the hell he gets up to over there -- and maybe being very quietly jealous over it -- and today’s no exception.

“Saying Kari likes Christmas, that’s like, real _is water wet_ territory.” Jamie stares at the tree and not at Tyler, then reaches out and pokes the branches. “Can you, like…?” Jamie nudges the tree. “Can you help? I can’t get to my mailbox.”

Tyler’s hand juts out from between the tree’s branches. “Give me your keys, bro, I’m already back here. I got you.”

Jamie starts to hand his keys over, then pauses. “Wouldn’t it be easier to move the tree?”

“Nah.” Tyler wiggles his fingers. “Keys.”

Jamie sighs and drops his keys into Tyler’s hand. From the other side of the tree, he hears the keys jingle, then the distinctive sound of the key slotting into the lock and the creak of the mailbox’s hinges.

“New Bauer catalog? Sweet,” Tyler says.

“Can you not go through my mail?”

Tyler thrusts a wad of envelopes though the tree branches. “You can have the rest, I want to look at their new gear.”

Jamie takes his handful of mail and rolls his eyes. “Fine, whatever, just stick it in front of my door whenever you’re done.” He turns to go -- he doesn’t have time to deal with Tyler’s _whatever_ on top of Kari’s ideas about holiday decorations -- and gets as far as the door before realizing that Tyler still has his keys.

Tyler clears his throat. “Missing something?”

“Keys, dude?” Jamie sticks his hand out.

From behind the tree, Tyler tosses the keys out. Jamie barely catches them, bobbling them a few times against his chest before finally getting control of them. “Ugh.”

“Merry Christmas, bro!”

“It’s _November,_ ” Jamie grumbles. “November!”

 

*

 

Jamie forgets all about the Bauer catalog -- it’s not like he has the money to buy the new Vapors any time soon -- until there’s a knock at his door the next morning.

He pads over to the door, in his pajamas and still half-asleep, and looks out the peep-hole.

Of course, he can’t see anything but a big green blur. “Kari,” Jamie grumbles as he swings open his door.

There’s a huge wreath hanging off of his door and Tyler on his doormat, Bauer catalog in hand.

“Morning, sunshine,” Tyler says. “Nice doormat.” He shifts his weight to his right foot and a tinny, disembodied voice starts singing Jingle Bells.

Jamie looks down. His normal doormat has been replaced by one with snowmen on it. “ _Kari_ ,” Jamie says again, fists clenched tight at his sides.

“I don’t know why you hate Christmas so much,” Tyler says. He rolls up the catalog and taps Jamie on the chest with it. “It’s a magical time.”

Jamie snatches back the catalog and steps back inside. “Enjoy your day, Tyler,” he deadpans, then slams the door in Tyler’s face.

 

*

 

Jamie gives the decorations a few days before he gets annoyed with hearing Jingle Bells every time he tries to leave his place. Before work, he takes down the wreath and hangs it on Tyler’s door instead.  He rolls up the doormat and deposits it outside of Kari’s door on his way out of the building.

When he comes home, his door is covered in wrapping paper and there’s a pile of cotton batting on the floor with a miniature sleigh and a reindeer.

Jamie can’t decide what to do with it, if he should just ignore it or relocate it or set it on fire or what.

“I think Kari’s waging war on you,” Tyler says, leaning up against his own door.

“The war for Christmas?” Jamie nudges the reindeer with his foot; it falls over, nestled in the soft mound of cotton.

“The war against inexplicable scrooges,” Tyler counters.

“I’m not a _scrooge_ ,” Jamie says. He even crouches down and rights the tiny reindeer, as if that proves his point. “It’s just… it’s not even Thanksgiving yet. Can’t we wait until December first?”

“You want Kari to decorate the place with, what, leaves and cornucopia and shit instead?”

Jamie sighs. “Maybe we could just have a longer break between Kari’s haunted house and Kari’s Christmas wonderland, would that be so bad?”

“That haunted house was fuckin’ wicked,” Tyler says. “They really should mention that before you sign a lease.”

“They _should_ ,” Jamie agrees.

“I would have signed, like, so much faster if I knew there would be a _guess what’s in the bowl_ gauntlet I had to pass through to get home.” Tyler’s eyes light up, like sticking his hand in a bowl of peeled grapes was the highlight of his October.

“No, I mean, I would have never signed the lease.”Sure, he would have missed out on the unique adventure that is living next door to Tyler, but he wouldn’t ever have to deal with wondering whether his landlord was going to jump out at him in a werewolf costume on Halloween.

Tyler’s eyebrows inch up. “Are you allergic to fun?” He toys with the bow on the wreath on his door, making the ends dance in the air as he talks. “It’s just a bunch of harmless decorations.”

“It’s so…” Jamie makes a face, a terrible grimace. “Festive.” He says it like it’s a dirty word.

“Dude, did you get beat up with a bunch of garland when you were a kid?” Tyler looks honestly, legitimately concerned. “I am worried about your childhood.”

“Don’t be.” Jamie shakes his head. “I don’t like, hate Christmas or anything. I just… don’t you think this is a little weird?” He gestures at Kari’s decorations. “We’re living in a theme park, almost.”

Tyler thinks this over for a moment. “No, no. Not a theme park.” He lifts the wreath off of his door, steps around Jamie, and hangs it back up on Jamie’s door. “But don’t say that too loud. Kari always talks about doing a carnival theme in the summer. He’d run a roller coaster right through here if he could.”

“Ugh.” Jamie looks at the wreath and sighs. If Tyler didn’t put it back, Kari would have -- and it would have been double the size of the original. “I take it back. I don’t want him to get any ideas.”

“Even I don’t want a roller coaster,” Tyler agrees. “I think.”

 

*

 

On December first, Jamie comes home to a sprig of mistletoe hanging over his door.

He sighs, pulls it down, and goes inside. He’ll deal with that later. Kari’s out of control, but he is right about one thing: Jamie’s rent is _really_ cheap.

 

*

 

When Jamie comes home from work the next day, the mistletoe is back.

Jamie pulls it down, tosses it in the trash, and goes to make dinner and think about his life choices, instead.

 

*

 

The next day, it’s the same story. More mistletoe. This time, it’s stapled to the drywall and there’s a post-it note nestled in Jamie’s wreath that says: _don’t be a scrooge, Mr. Benn._ He recognizes Kari’s handwriting, sighs, and leaves the mistletoe alone.

Tyler emerges from his apartment just as Jamie digs his keys out from his bag. “Nice mistletoe, Jamie,” he says. “Really classes up the joint.”

“Don’t you have anything better to do?”

Tyler shrugs. “Not really. Your war on Christmas is the most interesting thing to happen since I moved in here.”

“It’s not a war on _Christmas_ , I told you. It’s a war on Kari’s Christmas _decorations_.” Jamie jams his keys in the lock and shoves his door open. “There’s just … so much Christmas.” The wrapping paper covering on his door snags on a loose nail and tears at the bottom. He knows he’ll have to fix it, just so that Kari doesn’t do anything else outlandish to his door in retaliation. “So, so much Christmas.”

 

*

 

The tree’s still in the way of Jamie’s mailbox. He’s never bothered to move it and instead has mostly just stopped checking his mail unless he bumps into Tyler in the vestibule.

“I don’t know how you fit back there,” Jamie says as Tyler wriggles back behind the key to check both of their mailboxes.

He _definitely_ does not watch the flex and twist of Tyler’s body as he maneuvers into the tight space.

“Lots of yoga,” he says. “Also, I’m not built like a brick shithouse like you.”

Jamie feels his face heat up. He knows he’s stocky; that doesn’t mean he doesn’t squirm whenever people point it out. Especially people like Tyler.

“I am not.” It’s stupid to disagree, but he does anyway. He’s suddenly glad that Tyler’s on the other side of the tree.

“Uh, yeah, _whatever_.” Jamie can’t see Tyler, but he can just imagine his eye roll. Tyler shoves a giant stack of mail at Jamie through the branches of the tree, then begins to extract himself. “My point is, you are a big dude, while my mom still sends me coupons for groceries because she doesn’t think I’m eating enough.”

Jamie flips through the mail. Half of it is Tyler’s. “Are you?”

“Am I what?” Tyler brushes off pine needles from his shirt and hands Jamie’s keys back.

“Eating enough.” Jamie swaps his keys for Tyler’s mail. “Not that I care, but if you die in there, it’s gonna stink up the whole building, even with Kari’s Christmas potpourri.”

Tyler flips through his mail before dumping all of it in the trash can. “Gross, dude. I’ll give you my mom’s number, you can share like, soup recipes or something. Just don’t hit on her, that would be weird.”

Jamie sorts his mail, then tosses three different Bed Bath and Beyond coupons into the trash. “Trust me, I’m _not_ gonna hit on your mom.”

“Aww, you’re a _nice_ little brick shithouse,” Tyler says. He unlocks the front door and ushers Jamie through.

Jamie’s a nice guy, he thinks, but that’s not why he wouldn’t hit on Tyler’s mom. That’s a conversation for another day, though. “You could say that,” he says instead.

 

*

 

Jamie wakes up in the middle of the night to shouting next door. That’s not… it’s not normal. Tyler’s a pretty good neighbor, aside from the headboard-on-the-wall nonsense that occasionally wakes Jamie up.

It’s been a while since Jamie’s heard that, though.

In fact, it’s been a while since he’s heard _anything_ from Tyler’s place, so the shouting? The shouting is definitely new.

His clock rolls over to flash 2:00 at him in bold, red numbers. Through the thin walls, Jamie hears Tyler raise his voice, and, _okay_ , Jamie’s had enough.

“That’s _it_ ,” he grumbles as he pushes himself out of bed and stalks out of his apartment. He props his door open with one of Kari’s decorative reindeer and is poised to knock on Tyler’s door whenever it swings open.

“I _just_ wanted my shit,” says a big dude, tall and stocky and covered in tattoos. He’s almost as big as Jamie, but not quite. “ _You_ had to make a big deal out of it.”

The dude doesn’t notice Jamie, but Tyler does. His eyes go a little wide and he stops, mouth open, as he sees Jamie standing there.

“Yeah, _now_ you’re speechless, Ty,” the guy says, hefting a box under his arm as he turns to go. “You sure had a lot to say ea-- _oh_.”  He looks at Jamie, eyes narrowed, and then smiles.

There’s something off, something a little unsettling about his grin -- all teeth, Jamie thinks; all perfect, straight teeth -- and Jamie’s hands curl into fists at his sides.

“You should go now,” he says as he draws himself up to his full height. “You got your shit. You should go.”

“Calling in the cavalry, Ty?” The guy doesn’t turn back to look at Tyler. He just keeps staring straight at Jamie, like he can goad him into doing something stupid.

“No one’s calling anything. I can hear you through the walls, dude.” Jamie doesn’t know this guy and he already hates him. Anyone who’s going to yell at two in the morning is someone he’s probably going to hate a whole lot, no matter the circumstances.

He tells himself that the wounded, fragile look on Tyler’s face doesn’t mean anything to him, that it doesn’t make him feel weird and protective, it doesn’t make him feel warm and angry all over.

“You’re just the newer, younger version of me.” The guy stands just inside Tyler’s door, seemingly disinclined to move. An increasingly large part of Jamie wants to _make_ this guy move. “That’s all.”

“Kevin,” Tyler starts.

Jamie makes a noise and waves his hand at Tyler, cutting him off. “You need to go,” Jamie says lowly. “You need to go now.”

The guy -- Kevin -- stares at Jamie, who stares back, unblinking. Finally, he shoves past, jamming his shoulder into Jamie’s chest as he goes. “He’ll get tired of you, too, eventually,” he says, voice pitched low, but still loud enough for Tyler to hear, based on the way Jamie sees him flinch.

 _It’s not like that,_ Jamie wants to say, but there’s no point. He doesn’t _want_ to engage with this guy. He wants to put his fist through his teeth, but he won’t.

“Give it six months, he’s not good for much longer than that,” Kevin says as the elevator doors slide open in front of him.

“Oh, fuck off,” Jamie says under his breath. Jamie flicks Kevin off just as the doors shut.

Behind him, Tyler exhales. “Sorry,” he says. “You didn’t have to.”

Jamie pushes his hands through his hair, then turns around. “He woke me up.”

“You could have at least put a shirt on before storming over here.”

Jamie looks down and realizes for the first time that he’s only wearing boxers. “Oh. Well.” He folds his arms over his chest, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “I didn’t -- it doesn’t matter now.”

“I guess.” Tyler looks down at his feet. Tyler, Jamie notices, is doing everything _but_ look at Jamie. Maybe he should have put on pants, too.

They’re both quiet for a while: Jamie, trying to cover himself, and Tyler, trying to avoid looking at Jamie.

“You should change your locks,” Jamie says.

“He gave back his keys.” Tyler reaches into his pocket and pulls out a set of keys; the keyring is a set of fuzzy dice. The sad set of keys inexplicably make Jamie want to find Kevin and pound his face in.

“He might have made copies,” Jamie points out.

Tyler sighs. “He got what he wanted. It’s been over for a while, this just makes it official, I guess. He got his shit back, he got to bitch me out. It’s done.”

Jamie looks up and stares at Tyler. “Change them anyway. Talk to Kari about it, will you?”

Tyler shakes the keys in his hand. He doesn’t look at Jamie. “Yeah, I’ll -- yeah.” He takes a step out into the hallway, then stops. “Thanks, for-- you didn’t need to get involved.” 

Jamie backs up towards his door, one hand wrapped around the frame. “It’s fine,” he says finally. “Look, just…” Jamie turns back, reaches out, rests one hand light on Tyler’s shoulder. “You deserve better than that piece of shit, alright? You… you do, that’s all.” He retreats quickly, before Tyler can even react to Jamie’s hand. Jamie steps back to his own door, where he nudges the reindeer back out into the hallway with his toe.

Tyler hugs himself, hands rubbing against his upper arms. “Thanks,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

“Good night, Tyler.”

Jamie lingers outside his door just long enough to see Tyler disappear back inside.

“Good night, Jamie,” he hears Tyler say, just as the door closes behind him.

 

*

 

Jamie doesn’t see Tyler the next day, but when he comes home from work, there’s a plate of cookies on his doorstep and a post-it note that just says _thanx_ in small, blocky letters.

He thinks about knocking on Tyler’s door. He gets as far as standing in front of Tyler’s, free hand raised up, before he changes his mind and goes back inside.

 

*

 

It goes like that for a little while. Jamie doesn’t see Tyler, but sometimes there are things left on his doorstep.

A bag of coffee beans from the coffee shop Jamie always goes to. A flyer for the skate shop’s end-of-year clearance. A well-worn copy of a book about spies with a post-it that says: _read this!!! this shit is b-a-n-a-n-a-s!!!_

An empty plate with a note that says _I was going to leave you a sandwich but realized that’s creepy and also how people get food poisoning. And ants._

Jamie stands in the hallway for a while, staring down at Tyler’s note. He keeps _leaving_ things for Jamie, like a cat dragging home a dead bird for its owners. _Look at me_ , the cat’s saying, _look at how I’m showing you my feelings_.

Cats can’t use their words, but Jamie can. He knocks on Tyler’s door, but no one answers.

He pulls a pen out of his bag and scrawls on the back of Tyler’s note: _come over for real sandwiches tomorrow. no food poisoning. no ants._

Jamie tucks the note in the boughs of Tyler’s wreath, then goes home.

 

*

 

When there’s a knock at the door around lunchtime, Jamie doesn’t bother to leave the kitchen. “It’s open,” he shouts. Jamie casts a glance over his shoulder to see Tyler slip in, then turns back to his open refrigerator.

Tyler looks around Jamie’s apartment instead of acknowledging him at first.  There’s not much to _see_ in Jamie’s living room, so it doesn’t take long. A sad, sagging couch; a coffee table covered with an offensive number of dirty mugs; an overflowing bookshelf; a pile of shoes and boots kicked off next to the door.

“Nice place you have here,” he says, drawing out the words.

“You can sit.” Jamie gestures absently at the couch, ignoring the fact that he’s clutching a tomato in his hand. “Or you can help.”

Tyler doesn’t hesitate before coming over to the kitchen. “Whatcha need?”

“Plates, in the cabinet above the sink.” Jamie gestures with his elbow. “And bread’s above the refrigerator.” Tyler makes a noise that Jamie assumes is agreeable and gets to work.

“I hope you’re not expecting greatness,” Jamie says as he sets the tomato down on a cutting board and slices it in half. “I don’t have anything fancy.”

Tyler flops some slices of bread on a plate. “Dude, have you _met_ me?” He nudges Jamie’s hip with his own. “I am not a fancy sandwich guy.”

Jamie didn’t think so, but he had to check.

Not that he has a _plan_. Not that he wants _anything_. He just doesn’t want Tyler to hate his sandwiches.

“Mustard?”

Tyler makes a face, nose scrunched up, lip curled. “No, keep that on your side.”

“Duly noted.” Jamie smiles and goes back to his tomato.

 

*

 

“So,” Jamie starts. They’re sitting across from each other at Jamie’s rickety dining room table, which is mostly covered in books and groceries that need to find homes, eating a pair of misshapen sandwiches.

“So.” Tyler dabs at the corner of his mouth with a napkin. He doesn’t look right at Jamie; he’s mostly looking past him. It’s fine. Jamie’s fine with it.

“What’s up with all the… the… whatever.” Jamie gestures with his sandwich in the direction of his front door. “The cookies and the coffee and everything.”

“Peace offerings?”

Jamie considers this. “You don’t have anything to apologize for, though.”

“Dude, you came over in your boxers to like, intervene with my douchey rage-d out fuckface of an ex, I think I owe you more than some coffee.” Tyler sets his sandwich back down and pokes at the bread. “You didn’t have to. It’s not like -- I mean, we don’t even hang out, you didn’t need to do that.”

Jamie shrugs. “It was the right thing to do.” It was, and for Jamie, that made it an easy decision. “And we’re hanging out, now, aren’t we?” He reaches across the table and flicks the edge of Tyler’s plate.

Tyler smiles, and it actually gets the whole way to his eyes this time. “I guess so,” he says, and Jamie watches the way Tyler’s eyes crinkle, the way his whole face lights up, and thinks that he’s so very fucked.

 

*

 

Once Tyler realizes that Jamie usually leaves his door unlocked, he starts coming over unannounced and making himself right at home.

Jamie’s getting ready for work when he hears the front door open. “Morning, sunshine,” Tyler calls out as he walks in, following the sound of running water to find Jamie in the bathroom. Tyler apparently doesn’t know what boundaries are anymore, because he doesn’t appear to care about the fact that Jamie’s half-dressed and brushing his teeth. He just closes the lid on Jamie’s toilet and sits right down. “Hey, what are you doing on Christmas Eve Eve?”

Jamie points at his toothbrush and raises his eyebrows.

“I’ll wait, it’s cool.” Tyler kicks his feet, rucking up the rug while Jamie spits and rinses out his mouth.

Jamie sets his toothbrush down and wipes the back of his hand across his mouth. “Christmas Eve Eve?” Tyler nods. “Nothing. Why?”

“I need a plus-one.”

“A-- oh.” Jamie leans up against his sink. He thinks that maybe he should be wearing a shirt for this conversation, too. “I mean, I’m not busy, so.”

“There’s a catch,” Tyler adds.

“Let me guess.” Jamie tugs at the drawstring of his pants. “It’s a wedding.” Tyler shakes his head. “Dickbag ex is going to be there.” No, again; Jamie keeps guessing. “Tickets to the opera. Your family’s visiting. A, like, church thing?” Tyler shakes his head no, every time.

“No, worse, for you. But better, for me,” Tyler says. “It’s an ugly holiday sweater party.”

Jamie scowls. Ugly sweater parties combine everything that he hates about the holidays and puts them in one place. Forced festivity, drunken caroling, people asking about your holiday plans. He wants to say no. He really, _really_ wants to say no, and he tries very hard to not look at the way Tyler’s smile falters the longer it takes for Jamie to reply.

Instead, he says: “I don’t have an ugly sweater.”

Tyler’s smile inches back up. “I can take care of that part. Christmas Eve Eve, show up at my place at, what, six?”

“I didn’t say yes yet,” Jamie points out.

Tyler jumps up, thumps Jamie on the back. “But you didn’t say no, either.  I’m out, bro, have a not-shitty day.”

Before Jamie even knows what to say, Tyler’s out the door, and Jamie’s resigned to dragging himself to someone else’s holiday party.

What even is his life?

 

*

 

“I look ridiculous,” Jamie grumbles. “And I’m itchy.” He pushes up the sleeves of his sweater and scratches at his forearms. “Wool is stupid.”

“You look beautiful. Like a fancy holiday princess,” Tyler says. “And stop doing that. You’ll pull the sleeves out of shape.”

“It’s _itchy_.” Jamie pulls the sleeves back down anyway. The sweater Tyler dug up for him is not as terrible as it could have been: it’s just a cartoon scene of Santa in front of a tree. Tyler’s sweater, covered in little embroidered shoes and handbags, is objectively the worst sweater Jamie’s ever seen, and he’s going to remind Tyler of that every chance he gets.

Perhaps more terrible than Tyler’s sweater are the mistletoe headbands Tyler is insisting they wear. “They’re gonna be a hit,” Tyler says as he nestles the headband in Jamie’s hair.

“With _who_?” Jamie scowls. He’s not planning on picking up anyone at this party, _especially_ not when he’s wearing an ill-fitting sweater and a cloud of fake mistletoe.

“With _everyone_.” Tyler flicks the mistletoe, making it sway before Jamie’s eyes.

“Uh-huh.” Jamie folds his arms over his chest and tries not to look sullen.

He fails.

“Do I need to get you drunk?” Tyler asks. Jamie’s lips press together tightly, and Tyler sighs. “I need to get you drunk.” He grabs Jamie by the wrist and begins tugging him down the hall. “Come on, to the kitchen, there’s good beer here.”

 

*

 

It takes a few drinks to make the party bearable, but Jamie gets there. Over the course of the evening, he learns that the party’s being hosted by one of Tyler’s coworkers, that Tyler gets a little handsy whenever he’s drinking, and that everyone is just assuming that Jamie is Tyler’s new boyfriend.

Those last two _might_ be related.

“Myra! Myra, take our picture,” Tyler shouts, grabbing one of his coworkers by the arm and shoving his phone at her.

He loops one arm around Jamie’s shoulder and reels him in close. It’s not the first time he’s done it this evening, and each time Tyler gets in Jamie’s space, Jamie finds it even harder to come up with reasons to pull apart.

Tyler presses their faces together as Myra says “three, two, one, _picture!_ ” Jamie squirms against Tyler’s warmth, plastered tight to his side, and is disappointed whenever Tyler peels away to take his phone back.

“Sweet,” Tyler says as he taps his phone’s screen. “Gonna Instagram this, cool?”

It’s a great picture of Tyler; his smile is wide and brilliant as he leans close to Jamie. Jamie, meanwhile, has an expression on that says, fairly clearly, _I am going to start murdering people at this party_.

“Post it,” he says, because fuck it, he doesn’t care. “I need another drink.”

 

*

 

Jamie grumbles about the party, and about the people, and about all the personal questions people keep asking him. “If one more person asks me if I’m single…”

“And ready to _mingle_ ,” Tyler fills in, with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“People have very specific ideas over who I should be mingling with.” Jamie slumps up against a wall and frowns.

“Anya, the girl from marketing?” Tyler jerks his head at a cute blonde girl at the end of the hallway. She’s tall and willowy and not Jamie’s type at all.

“Uh, no.” Jamie makes a face. “Not -- that is not at all who people say I should be mingling with.”

Tyler purses his lips and just stares at Jamie, like that’s going to help any. Jamie _tries_ to shoot Tyler a meaningful look, but he doesn’t think it helps, because Tyler just goes “well, huh,” and steals a swig of Jamie’s beer.

 

*

 

Tyler’s sprawled in a chair and Jamie’s perched on the arm, his knees angled in towards Tyler. Tyler’s telling a very long-winded story that has something to do with the Accounts Payable department. Jamie’s having a hard time following it because, well, first, _beer_ , and second, Tyler keeps dissolving into giggles any time the story’s getting anywhere.

It’s hilarious and endearing, and Jamie can’t stop staring at the way Tyler’s smile lights up his face, eyes crinkling at the corners, every time he starts laughing at his own joke.

“Tell him, Myra,” Tyler says, gesturing vaguely at Myra. “Tell Jamie about the thing.”

“The _thing_.” Myra arches an eyebrow. “Tyler, you lost the thread of this story fifteen minutes ago. I think you need to take this one home, Jamie.”

Tyler leans over and rests his chin on Jamie’s knee. “You think?” he asks, then starts singing under his breath. “Take me home tonight, I don’t wanna…” He trails off into off-key humming, forgetting the rest of the lyrics to the song.

“Alright, yeah, that’s enough for him.” Jamie rolls his eyes. “I’ll put some Taylor Swift on, give him some Gatorade, he’ll be good as new in the morning.” He slides off the couch and nudges Tyler’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s go call a taxi.”

Tyler hauls himself up and plasters himself to Jamie’s side. “Good party, Myra,” he says, flapping one hand in her direction. “Good party, good ugly sweater, good booze.”

“Make sure he sleeps it off,” Myra says to Jamie. “Otherwise he’s gonna be all…” She waves vaguely in Tyler’s direction. “All, like, Grumpy Cat tomorrow.”

“Right.” Jamie loops one arm around Tyler’s waist and steers him towards the door. “Nice to meet you, Myra. I’ll put Grumpy Cat to bed.”

Myra pulls the front door open and ushers Jamie and Tyler outside. “Sure you will,” she says, swatting Jamie’s shoulder. “Sure you will.”

 

*

 

In the taxi, Tyler tucks himself against Jamie’s side. “You really wouldn’t mingle with Anya from marketing?” he whispers. Jamie can barely hear him over the cabbie’s radio.

“Never in a million years,” Jamie answers honestly.

This seems to satisfy Tyler, because he curls one hand in Jamie’s sweater and wriggles impossibly closer. “Good,” he murmurs.

 

*

 

“Come on, Segs, this is your stop.”

By now, Tyler’s more asleep than he is drunk, but it doesn’t matter; Jamie still has to prop him up against the wall.

“I like your mistletoe,” Tyler says, tipping his head to the side and looking up at Jamie. “Did you even get to use it?”

“What do you mean?” Jamie asks. “And where are your keys?”

Tyler paws at his pockets. “Here.” He does a roll of his hips to work his keys out, then shoves them at Jamie. “And I mean, like, did you make out with anyone? Do the actual mistletoe thing.”

Jamie takes the keys and sighs. “Pretty sure I was with you all night, so no, dude.”

“Oh.” Tyler pushes himself off of the wall and drapes himself over Jamie’s side. “That’s a shame. You should’ve told me.” Tyler clutches tight to Jamie’s arm with one hand; with the other, he reaches up and flicks the mistletoe headband.

“What would that have solved?” Jamie fits the key to the lock and twists the doorknob.

“Don’t be dumb.” Tyler moves in front of the door, surprisingly quick for a guy who seems mostly dead on his feet. “I would’ve. I would’ve, you know.” He flicks the mistletoe again, then, very lightly, rests his fingers along the curve of Jamie’s jaw. “You can’t waste good mistletoe.”

It’s not even _real_ mistletoe, Jamie wants to point out. He doesn’t.

But, _fuck_ , it’s not like Jamie hasn’t thought about kissing Tyler before. The opportunity just never presented itself, and he wasn’t just going to sneak attack Tyler with his feelings or anything. He is a polite young man. _Really_. He is.

“Tyler.” Jamie reaches around Tyler to push the door open. “Come on.”

Tyler grips at the hem of Jamie’s sweater. “I’m not just saying that.” He takes a few steps back as Jamie very gently nudges him into the apartment. “I’m really not. I would.”

Jamie does _not_ want to be the responsible one here, but he will. “You need to sleep all of this off, Tyler. We can talk tomorrow.”

Tyler sighs. “Alright, alright, I’m going.” He keeps going, taking small, shuffling steps backwards as Jamie stays put in the doorway.

“Good night, Tyler,” Jamie says, stepping back out into the hall.

“Good night, Jamie.” Tyler gives a feeble wave, then ducks into his bedroom.

Jamie tosses Tyler’s keys onto the sofa, then lets himself out.

 

*

 

Jamie _wants_ to sleep forever, but he wakes up far too early to someone pounding on his door.

“Christ,” Jamie mutters, and rolls out of bed. He’s still half dressed from the party; he’d lost his jeans somewhere along the way, but he’s still wearing the terrible sweater. He doesn’t even care. “I’m coming, hold the fuck on.”

Jamie’s not surprised to find Tyler on the other side of the door. Of course it’s Tyler. Why wouldn’t it be?

It’s Tyler, and he’s holding a plate of pancakes and a container of syrup.

“Breakfast?”

Jamie grunts and waves Tyler in. “Since when do you knock?”

“I always knock. Since when do you lock your door?” Tyler heads straight for the table and sets the pancakes down.

“Maybe I should start locking it more,” Jamie mumbles, then goes in search of clean forks.

“Nice sweater,” Tyler says. Jamie flips him off. “And nice pants.”

Jamie rolls his eyes. “I was _sleeping_ , asshole. What am I supposed to do, sleep in jeans?”

Tyler squints at Jamie. “Are those candy canes on your boxers?”

“Maybe.” Jamie tosses the forks on the table, then tugs at the hem of his sweater and tries to make himself very small. “Stop staring and eat your pancakes.”

Tyler picks up a fork. “They’re for you, too.”

“Then, stop staring and eat your half of the pancakes.”

Jamie drops into the chair next to Tyler and starts to dig in. They polish off the plate before Jamie even thinks to ask: “so, what’s up with the pancakes?”

“Didn’t want to leave them in front of your door. Ants, and shit.” Tyler leans back in his chair, tipping the front two legs off the ground.

“Don’t break my chair, it’s already wobbly.” Jamie sticks out one leg and kicks Tyler in the calf. “Are these peace offering pancakes?” Jamie, after all, has his suspicions.

Tyler shrugs. “Maybe.” He gets quiet, looks down at his plate. Jamie’s just going to wait him out. “I mean, I made you go to that party and wear that sweater and then you had to drag my drunk ass home, and--”

“Hey.” Jamie leans over and rests his hand on Tyler’s wrist. “It’s fine. I had a good time. Even if I didn’t, I still got plenty of dirt on you from Myra, so.”

Tyler is quiet for a long time as he stares at Jamie’s hand. “Are we going to talk about me making a drunken pass at you?”

Jamie doesn’t know what the right answer to the question is. At least Tyler remembers their conversation last night; that’s something. “We don’t have to,” he says slowly. “But we can.”

Maybe that wasn’t the right answer, because Tyler looks away. “I should get going, you’ve probably got stuff to do today.” He pulls away, shoves his chair out, backs towards the door. Jamie doesn’t know what he _did_ , but he knows that Tyler’s walking out the door.

 

*

 

Jamie’s got Tyler’s empty plate, his maple syrup, and that terrible sweater bundled up in his arms. He’s wearing the mistletoe headband.

He has a plan.

When Tyler swings open his door, Jamie shoves everything at him. “Listen,” he says, before Tyler can even greet him. “When I said we didn’t have to talk about it, that’s not what I meant.”

“Jamie.” Tyler’s brows knit together. “What.”

“Hi. Okay. Listen.” He pokes the mistletoe dangling above his head. “What I meant was, there’s nothing to talk about.”

Tyler clutches the sweater and everything closer to his chest. “Is this supposed to be making me feel better? Because it isn’t.”

“No, fuck. Fuck!” Jamie frowns. This is way more difficult than he thought it was going to be. Words are stupid. _Feelings_ are stupid.  “This still isn’t going right. Look.” He steps forward, takes the sweater and the plate and the syrup from Tyler and sets them on top of Kari’s carefully decorated fake snow piles. “There’s nothing to talk about because in no universe am I going to be like, ‘oh, please, do not make out with me, that would be terrible’. There’s nothing to talk about because I am one-hundred percent completely sold on you and me making out.”

Jamie exhales. That was a _lot_ of words. And feelings.

Tyler’s face relaxes; his eyebrows creep up and up as Jamie talks. “Oh. So.”

“Yeah. So.”  He grins, then flicks the mistletoe again. “Mistletoe?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Tyler says. He steps up, closing the distance between them, and leans in, pressing their lips together in a slow, sweet kiss. It’s everything Jamie’s wanted, he thinks, as he sinks one hand into Tyler’s hair and presses into the kiss. 

“Merry Christmas, Tyler,” he says when they pull apart. He can’t stop _smiling_ ; his face hurts from it. He doesn’t even _care_ about Christmas, but he cares about _this_.

“Merry Christmas, Jamie.” Tyler pulls back and looks so _fond_ , Jamie can’t even stand it. “Now get in here.” He curls one hand in the front of Jamie’s t-shirt and tugs.

“Here, wait, let me just--” Jamie reaches up to take off the ridiculous mistletoe headband. It’s served its purpose; it can go now.

Just before Tyler slams the door behind them, he pauses, looks at the mistletoe. “Nah, leave it. It looks good on you.”

No matter how Jamie feels about Christmas, he is _definitely_ not going to argue that point.

At least, not right now.

He thinks.

**Author's Note:**

> Join me on [Tumblr](http://othersideofthis.tumblr.com/) for additional entertainment.


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